Life is a Bowl of Toilets...

Two of the first books I published started with these words, but like all poor suckers who didn't do their homework, I signed with Publish America and probably haven't made enough money to cover the nail polish I wore off while typing the manuscripts.  Both are short reads...perfect for one sitting in the john.  :)

While trying to think of something humorous to share, I thought, why not an excerpt from Life is a Bowl of Toilets and I Feel Flush.  I did get some pretty great reviews on my efforts, but this particular book is fraught with errors, yet PA didn't think they were important enough to fix.  Hope you find something to chuckle about in this offering:

Strangers in the Night

Did I say memory? I wish I still had one. That’s one of the first things to leave. One day you are heading down the hallway and you suddenly realize you have no idea why…or even of your destination. The first time it happens is a terrible feeling, but then it becomes commonplace
and you just have to rearrange your life to accommodate it. I now use a checklist before leaving home to make sure I do not burn the house down by forgetting to turn off appliances. I have lots of time to create the list because I usually am searching for the car keys that are in a spot
that I can’t recall.

And…there is nothing more annoying than running into people you don’t remember, especially when they know your name. It’s embarrassing to say the least. If they are my age, I want to ask for tips on how they recall who I am, but then I probably wouldn’t remember what they said anyhow. I think everyone over fifty should have their names embroidered on their clothing in a highly visible area…and in large letters for those of us who put our glasses somewhere and can’t
remember where.

Here’s a prime example of what may be looming on my horizon:

Two elderly women were out driving in a large car—both could barely see over the dashboard. As they were cruising along, they came to an intersection where the traffic light was red. Instead of stopping, they went right on through.

The woman in the passenger seat thought to herself, “I must be losing it. I could swear that light was red.” 

After a few more minutes they came to another intersection and red light. Again they went right through. A little further down the street, it happens again.

Now the woman in the passenger seat is beginning to panic, but before she can say anything, they’ve run through another red light.

Fearing for her life, the passenger turns to her friend and says, “Mildred, do you realize that you have been running every red light? You could have killed us both!”

Mildred turned to her and responded, “Oh crap, am I driving?”

Along with the memory goes your eyesight. God was kind here because most people over fifty have lost some degree of their vision. I figure he planned it to balance the shock of the body changes we experience. Luckily we don’t wear our corrective lenses to bed or senior sex would come to an immediate halt. If we could see each other with 20/20 accuracy, we’d probably consider celibacy a serious cure.

Senior sex you say? Studies show that most adults stay sexually active well into their golden years and actually are enjoying it more than when they were young. I have to admit that I am trying it only because I hear it can prolong ones’ life. I view intercourse as my monthly dose of exercise. Why jog everyday when I can make my heart race three times faster by just trying to assume some of the positions I liked in my younger years? I have decided the “missionary” is my  favorite at this stage since I spend most of time praying for the torture to end…and I have finally come to the conclusion that the enjoyment study might have been based on bedroom noises. It is hard to decipher between someone lost in the throes of ecstasy and someone with the sudden onset of leg cramps. Face it, at fifty and over most of us just aren’t as agile as we used to be.


I just don’t want to be like the women in these joke I recently received in my email:

An elderly woman was ambling down the nursing home hallway. In front of each old man, she would stop, rest on her walker, and flip up the bottom of her gown and say, “Supersex.”
 After stopping in front of four or five gentlemen, and without having received a response of any
kind, she paused before a newcomer sitting in his wheelchair and again flipped up the hem of her nightgown and said, “Supersex.”
The elderly gent gave her a quick once-over, and without hesitation responded, “I’ll take the soup.”

OR

Eighty-year-old Bessie bursts into the rec room at the retirement home. She holds her clenched fist in the air and announces, “Anyone who can guess what’s in my hand can have sex with me tonight.” An elderly gentleman in the rear shouts out, “An elephant?” Bessie thinks for a moment and says, “Close enough!”

My gradual loss of my vision coincided with the sprouting of long hairs on my neck and a few on my upper lip. What’s this all about? I had a hysterectomy, take hormone replacement pills daily, and now I am growing whiskers? I don’t know about you but I think my husband  should be the only one in the house with a beard or moustache. It is yet another humiliating experience of aging to have to ask my husband to “pluck” my neck since I can’t see well enough to do it myself…and it’s amazing how quickly they grow back. I had noticed that the hair growth on my legs and under my arms had minimized so I guess this is the repercussion from that. On a good note, having my moustache waxed on a monthly basis at my local salon has taken a few of the pleats out of my lips.

I remember when I first heard the term “bikini wax.” I might have considered one if I had a bathing suit body, but a few stray pubic hairs were the least of my concerns. In my younger years I did do a little time trimming of that area on occasion just so all those little curly hairs did not peek out of my undies, but I sure as heck was not about to go have a stranger take care of the problem for me. Isn’t life humiliating enough without letting other people know how hairy you are? I realize this is a sensitive topic, but I do want to warn those of you who find this a common complaint; be thankful you have what you have while you have it. One of life’s best kept secrets is that the hairs on your head aren’t the only locks that turn gray, and worse than that, not only men develop male-pattern baldness. Let me just say that baby girls may look cute out of their diapers, but there is nothing attractive about a graying, balding who-who. But, the way my body is aging, my boobs will hide the problem before long…as long as I don’t lay down.
 
  Are you kidding me?  $24.75 for a 50 page book?  If anyone wants a copy, I have several I'll be willing to see for less than half the price.  Gees, it's not like I'm Nora Roberts.